


The Spirit Of The Trees

by woodelf



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Time, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Tree Spirit!Rum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodelf/pseuds/woodelf
Summary: It had been a long time since he had been awake, long enough that the people in the nearby village had forgotten why they hung garlands in the branches of the gnarled old oak tree at the seasonal festivals or poured cider on its roots.Once upon a time, the people had known that he was more than just a tree.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	The Spirit Of The Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beastlycheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastlycheese/gifts).



> Inspired by a picture taken by beastlycheese. The dildo booth is based on a picture which you can see at the end of that post as well.

It had been a long time since he had been awake, long enough that the people in the nearby village had forgotten why they hung garlands in the branches of the gnarled old oak tree at the seasonal festivals or poured cider on its roots. 

Once upon a time, the people had known that he was more than just a tree. 

But slowly he became aware again, aware of the young woman who came most days, to sit at his base between two of his roots where the ground was smooth and the grass was soft, leaning back against his trunk as she read. She always had a book with her, and sometimes she would talk out loud, commenting on the characters and their actions, and he remembered the sound of language, and felt the urge to come out of his bark, and reply. But he remembered, too, the look of fear on people’s faces, the screams of people running away, and although at times he had reveled in that reaction, he did not want it now. The thought that she might go away and never come back kept him still, immobile, waiting for each next visit, a new hunger growing that was in keeping with the spring, with the quickening life within him. And he always had been a mischief-maker.

He started slowly, the next time she came, pushing one of his roots closer to the surface, in the space between her legs, so slowly that she was not aware of anything, as engrossed in her current book as she was. He could tell the moment that she realised that something bumpy was now pressing into her where it had formerly been smooth.

Belle’s mouth hung slightly open, her eyes avidly sweeping back and forth across the page. She had finally gotten to the good part of her book. Not that the story up till now had been bad, and there had already been that one promising kiss, but the hero’s breeches had finally been opened, and words like ‘hot’ and ‘hard’ and ‘wet’ were coming into full play. She could feel her own wetness as she shifted back and forth unconsciously, and suddenly realised that she was sitting upon something bumpy that was pressing into her in just the right spot. Puzzled, she shifted to the side, sweeping her hand beneath her and expecting to find a rock which she hadn’t noticed when she had sat down, but coming up empty. She did feel something, though, and rolled over onto her knees, off to the side. Brushing aside the grass, she saw what must be a new root pushing out of the ground near the base of the tree. Or not new, she thought, but finally grown large enough for her to notice it. The thought of losing her nice smooth spot between two of the large roots would have bothered her, except...it had felt kind of nice. That pressure, right there at her core. And she hadn’t even felt it until she had started squirming around. It would probably be a long time before it got big enough to force her to seek a new favourite reading place. She settled herself back in place, experimentally. Yes, she could avoid the bump pressing into her depending on how she sat. But she didn’t want to avoid it right now. She opened her book again, and pressed down, feeling the slight nudge of the root, feeling secretly, deliciously naughty, and resumed reading. 

She was unable to slip away for a few days after that by Gaston arriving for another visit, her father pressing her to accept his suit, and it was a relief when he left again, and she was able to escape with another book to the peace and the dappled sunlight beneath the oak. No one ever came here outside of festival days, she had learned, although no one had ever been able to explain to her the source of their vague superstitions regarding the tree. But she had never felt anything but comfortable here, with the company of no-one but the birds and the squirrels who would run chittering through its branches if she was quiet and still long enough. She remembered the first time she had seen the decorated tree, when she’d been old enough to ride that far on her first pony. Her father had scorned the villagers’ celebrations as something beneath him, but her mother had taken her, and they’d been welcomed, a bright sheaf of ribbons pressed into her hand, her mother lifting her high into the air so she could tie them about one of the tree’s branches. That first year was still so clear in her memory, the laughter and smiles and music, everyone going quiet and hushed when the village headman had stood up, holding a carved wooden bowl on high. He had spoken of why they were there, asking the blessings of the old gods for the land and the people and their animals alike, and had intoned the words of the ritual before pouring a libation upon the roots of the oak. He had then drank himself, and had passed the bowl of ale on to the next person with the words ‘Blessed Be’, and the bowl had gone around the circle of people, each drinking and repeating the Blessing as they passed it on to the next. She remembered her excitement when her mother had handed the bowl to her with a smile, the taste of bitter ale on her tongue, and passing it on to the next villager, the feeling of being linked to them all and some greater something. 

She had only gone back once after her mother had died, that autumn, to the Feast of the Dead, determined to call out her mother’s name and hear her recognised. One by one, all those who had lost a loved one that year had stood up and said their name -- and there had been many that year, lost to the attacks of the ogres -- and then it had been Belle’s turn. 

_“My mother, Lady Collette,”_ she had said, with tears pricking the backs of her eyes and a lump in her throat. 

The headman had looked her in the eye and spoken solemnly, as he had to every other person. _“She is welcome to join us here, this night, at our feast.”_ And another candle had been lit in her name and placed on the long table that would shine bright as the dusk gathered and the night fell.

And that had been the comfort, to think that on that night the veil between the worlds might be thin enough for her mother to see her, to hear her, to know that she was loved and remembered, and honoured. She hadn’t been able to bear going back alone after that, to the festivities that they had shared, but had found a compromise by visiting the oak by herself, feeling a connection to her mother here. 

Settling down in her usual place, she immediately felt the root pressing up beneath her skirts. It felt like it had grown since she had been here last, and after only a few minutes she abandoned her book and slipped her right hand up under her skirts and used her left to loosen her bodice laces enough to pull one breast free of the confining material, enabling her to rub her nipple through her thin linen shift. She leaned back, imagining the tree trunk was someone at her back, that the root was something else entirely, that her hands were theirs...

The being inside the tree watched avidly, his efforts at speeding the growth of the root well rewarded, wanting nothing more than to step out of the tree and reveal himself, but knowing all too well that his appearance would likely send her running in fear. He would wait and emerge after she had left, take himself in hand, spill his seed where she was now gasping her pleasure. 

A storm swept through that night, the rains drenching the earth, and he drank in the energy of the life-giving moisture, used it to push outward, form new growth. The rain tapered off during the day, but it remained damp and overcast, and the being wasn’t surprised when Belle did not come with a book to sit on the rain-soaked earth. It gave him more time. But the sky cleared overnight, and the sun rose in the morning, and the grass dried, and he waited, heart in his mouth, pleased with his work. 

Belle arrived at her favourite reading spot in the mid-afternoon, bearing both a book and a blanket, in case the ground should still be damp beneath the oak’s branches. What she saw when she arrived made her stop in her tracks and stare. That something that large should have appeared in the couple of days since she had last been here was startling enough, but it’s appearance...she might be a maiden still, but she knew what that root looked like, and no matter how she tried to see it from a different angle, it looked, indubitably and unmistakably, like a man’s erect... _cock_ , her mind cheerfully supplied, having overheard enough conversations amongst the female servants who spoke of such things matter-of-factly, and from the stableboys who sometimes didn’t see her short form behind the high walls of her horse’s stall as she groomed him. 

And not only had she seen illustrations in books, but at the summer market fair a few years ago, there had been that one booth, shamelessly displaying numerous wooden...phalluses, she had decided, polished to a high sheen, some hanging by a loop of cord that had been attached to the base, others including a pair of testicles at the base which provided a flat bottom which allowed them to stand upright when placed on the wooden counter surrounding the booth. The booth had been doing good business, and Belle had lurked in the background, wanting both to see and to not be seen, fascinated by the women -- and men -- who boldly made a purchase and left with their selection, some tucking it discreetly in a basket or bag, others simply looping the cord around their wrist and blatantly carrying it in full view. She’d gone back several times during the course of the fair, but had never worked up enough nerve to approach the booth to more closely inspect the wares, let alone buy one. And she had _wanted_ to buy one, had become consumed with the desire to know what it would feel like to have something like that inside her. If she was going to be married off, she thought she would rather go to her marriage bed not fearing an unknown experience. From what she had heard, how much her first time would hurt would depend on whether the man was willing to go slow and careful, or whether he would plunge in heedlessly, only seeking his own pleasure. She knew what category Gaston would fall into. She had eyed the array of sizes, deciding the ones in the middle would most likely approximate an average male, but thinking one of the slimmer models would be a better place to start. 

After the fair had left and the booths taken down, Belle had cursed herself for not being brave enough to buy a phallus for herself. It wasn’t so much fear of what the seller or other customers might have thought of her that had kept her in the shadows, but fear of word getting back to her father about what his daughter was buying. She would have died of embarrassment if he had confronted her about it. But she resolved to be bolder next time -- except next time never came. That particular booth never materialised at the Winter Fair, nor the Summer one the following year. She wondered if her father had learned of it and refused to give permission for the craftsman to display his wares -- it did not seem like the type of thing of which he would approve. 

Now Belle stared at the very phallic appendage jutting out of the tree’s base, the delineated head, and felt that the universe must be playing a joke on her. “Trees do not grow cocks overnight,” she accused out loud.

A high-pitched giggle greeted her statement, and before her eyes it was if the tree blurred in front of her, and something detached from its trunk, something with the same rough grey-brown look of bark covering its form but which was, essentially, man-shaped. And naked.

Belle stared, her mouth opened in amazement. 

“it took me more than one night to create that, I’ll have you know. Not easy work. But I’m so glad that you recognise what it’s supposed to be.”

Her gaze strayed down, inexorably, to the place between its -- _his_ \-- legs, unable to glance away from the cock which lay soft and unthreatening but still larger than she had expected. 

He chuckled, and reached down to stroke himself. “I can be as hard for you as you like, my lady,” and Belle saw that part of him stir, lifting away from him as it stiffened. She forced her eyes up, her cheeks flaming with heat.

“What are you?”

“I’m the spirit of the tree, of course. And you were the one who woke me from my long slumber. I would say “don’t be afraid”, but I don’t think you are, are you dearie?” He leered with a knowing smirk. “I think you want to touch me, to pleasure yourself upon my cock.” He took a step towards her, but stopped as soon as she took an automatic step back. 

“Don’t be crude!” she exclaimed, but the truth was that she _did_ want to touch, at least. While she had no desire to wed or bed Gaston or any other man in particular, she had wondered what sex would be like. She had even envied that any young man with enough coin could buy a sexual experience with a prostitute, without needing to be in a relationship first or even having to worry about caring for a babe if one should result despite whatever precautions were taken. That was all on the woman. She had thought that it might be nice to explore a man’s body at her leisure, to get the messy business of losing her virginity over with a stranger whom she need never see again so she would be able to enjoy her wedding night with the benefit of experience and without fearing any pain. And while he wasn’t exactly a man, he seemed close enough in the important bits. 

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Names are given by others. There’s just me.” He giggled. “In the tree.”

Belle frowned. “That sounds lonely. Aren’t there any others like you? Other tree spirits?”

“All trees have spirits, but not all become like me, able to leave their tree. They have to grow old enough, to start with, and then something has to waken them. There used to be more, but humans, they felled the trees. To clear their fields, to use in building. And always they took the biggest, the oldest.” His voice was flat. “Not so many now, and none around here. Not that I know of.”

“I’m sorry.” Belle thought of all the wood they used, all the wood they burned, and blanched to think that some of them might have contained the spirit of a sentient creature within, unable to speak up or leave their tree. “We didn’t know,” she said miserably.

“It’s no matter.”

“It _is_ ,” she said hotly, thinking of how lonely he must be. “But there’s nothing I can do about what’s already been done. I could, however, give you a name? If you’d like one? So that I could have something to call you?”

His whole face brightened. Names were powerful; names had magic. Once someone named you, you belonged to them. The idea held a certain appeal. “I would not say no.”

“All right, then, let me think.” She bit her lip as she thought of the latest book she’d read, a tale of three sons who had quested to save a princess. The eldest, spoiled and arrogant and with his pockets lined with money, had failed. The second, sure of his strength and his muscles, had also not made it past a certain point. It had been the third -- a thin, wiry lad barely into manhood who spent his days in hard work around his father’s estate despite the twisted foot that his brothers sneered at him for, who had stopped to offer to share what little food he had with the small boy who had been begging in the road, and had thus gained the aid of the fairy who had disguised herself as such to test the worthiness of the suitors who came thinking to win themselves a princess, and told to him the secret needed to solve the puzzle and free the princess. The princess, who valued a compassionate nature and an intelligent mind more than money or brawn, had been more than pleased with her rescuer and happy to marry him. The youngest son’s name had been Rhum, and Belle had rooted for him throughout the entire book. 

“What about Rhum?” she asked.

“Rum?” he repeated. “Like the drink?” Not the commonest of drinks in these parts, but he had heard of it. 

Belle realised that of course he couldn’t hear the silent “h”, and that it wasn’t really necessary. “Yes, like the drink. And also there was a character called that in a book I read, a good character. I know it’s short, but -- “

“No, no, it’s fine. Short and simple. I like it.” He beamed at her, and she ducked her face down while still looking up through her lashes. 

“Good. I’m glad.” Blushing, Belle curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Rum. I’m Belle.”

“Belle. Like a bluebell?” he asked, teasing, in reference to her blue riding coat. “Do you smell as sweet, I wonder?” He approached her slowly, noticing the hitch in her breathing as he leaned in close, inhaling the scent of her skin and hair. And she did smell sweet, the fresh appley scent of chamomile. “Mm, you do.” She was holding herself very still, but she wasn’t fleeing, nor protesting, so he lifted a hand and brushed his gnarled fingers over her pulled-back hair. 

Belle raised her hands and placed them on his chest, not to push him away but because she couldn’t help herself. His skin was warm, the muscles firm beneath supple skin that was textured like young tree bark.

She let her hands drift lower, over his belly, his cock rising towards her so very close now. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to know what it would feel like to have it inside her. Her choice, this first time. She licked her lips.

“if we...if we did something,” she asked carefully, her face flushing hotly. “Would there be any chance of a child?”

“No. None.”

“How do you know?” she challenged him. “Do you do this often?”

He blinked, his eyes large and round. “Not in a very long time, but once, they would leave a maiden for me, every spring. No children ever resulted; we are too different a species.”

Belle nodded; it did seem unlikely, but with magic involved, it didn’t hurt to be sure. She reached out, her fingers poised above his chest. “May I -- ?”

“ _Please_.” It had been so long, so long since he had been touched...

Belle flattened her hands against the hard planes of his chest, finding his skin warm beneath her fingertips and the textured surface not nearly as rough as it looked. She could feel his heart, thudding against her palm, in twin counterpoint to her own. Biting her lip, she moved her hands up, along his collarbone, and out to his shoulder, down his arms and back up, hearing the way his breathing was picking up, quick and uneven, even as he stood stock still and silent and allowed her explorations. He didn’t have any nipples, she noted with curiousity, but his musculature bore the same contours as a man’s.

Gaining in confidence, she slid her hands back down to his chest and kept going lower, over the flat belly, his breath hitching in his throat as she neared what she most wanted to touch, to explore. She hesitated, then lifted one hand and let her fingertips brush against his cock, startled when even that light touch made him twitch against her hand. She darted her eyes up to meet his, saw him watching her with a hungry, glazed look, and gathered her courage. 

She curled her fingers around him, their tips just barely meeting, and he moaned and his hips jerked forwards, pushing him through the ring of her fingers. His flesh was hotter, here, the skin smoother, softer, shifting back as he moved to reveal the sculpted head at the top of his shaft, flushed a faint underlying green beneath the brownish-grey. She was entranced by the contrast between the velvety skin and the oaken hardness beneath, and experimented, pulling the loose skin forward again, then pushing it back, thumb skimming over the top of the head, fingers finding the split ridge beneath. Rum moaned, his hands coming up to clutch at her shoulders. She moved her hand up and down and felt him swell further, thick and pulsing, and a matching desire thrummed deep in her core.

She looked up at him, his eyes wide, pupils blown, as he watched her. “Does it feel good?”

“ _Yes_.”

“What else should I do?”

Rum licked his lips. “Whatever you want.”

And she knew what she wanted, had read it in her books. She dropped to her knees, his cock calling to her, and leaned forward, mouthing at the head of it, breathing in his clean woodsy smell. Rum gave a strangled groan and his hands landed on her shoulders, his sharp nails digging in. She wrapped one hand around the base of his shaft, to steady it, and took a deep breath before parting her lips and taking him fully into her mouth, another breathy sound escaping him. She glanced up through her lashes to see his head thrown back, and a dizzying sense of power overcame her. She sucked briefly on the head of his cock, all that she had been able to get inside her mouth, and then pulled back, determined, relaxing her jaw and slightly shifting her angle, and pushed forward again, managing to take him a little deeper, feeling the weight of him on her tongue. 

Rum moved his hands into Belle’s hair, fingers tightening reflexively, legs braced and muscles taut as he held himself still, fighting the urge to thrust deeper, to beg for harder, faster, more. “That’s it, dearie,” he crooned. “Take me, taste me, suck me down.”

Belle pulled back, sucking hard as she let him slide out of her mouth, fascinated by the sight of him up close. No hair down there, where she had it, the column of his flesh rising smooth and uninterrupted from his body, the oddly-coloured skin doing nothing to mar the beauty she found in the shape of him. She moved her hand up, her saliva slicking the way, up and down and back up, stroking him as she had read in her books, glancing up through her lashes to see his reaction. “Like this?” 

“Yes, yes, exactly like that. Harder, if you like, and faster…aaahhhh.” He groaned as her small fist tightened about him, her thumb pressing into exactly the right spot beneath the head that sent a jolt of pleasure through him and made his balls jump spasmodically in their sac. His thoughts started to scatter beyond the fact that it was good, so _good_ , his breath coming in rough, audible pants. 

Rum seemed to grow impossibly harder as Belle pumped him swiftly, impossibly larger, and she couldn’t help starting to feel slightly -- well, more than slightly -- worried about his size. How could she fit that part of him inside of her? Were human men smaller? Yet he had said he had taken human women before, so presumably it was possible. She paused as she noticed a drop of moisture beading up at the tip of his cock and swept her thumb over it to smear the thin, clear fluid over the crown. “Is this your...seed?” she asked, rubbing over the slit and watching more leak out. 

“It’s...of a sort, yes. Although as I said, no child will ever come from it.” Rum dragged his scattered thoughts back together, reminded himself this wasn’t just about his own pleasure, and focused on regaining control. “And if you want to use my body for anything else, you should probably go ahead and do that before I spend myself and soften in your hand instead of your cunt.”

Belle flushed at his plain speaking, but yes, she did want, even if she was nervous about the trying. But she leaned forward first, her tongue coming out to taste him. Everything that she had heard and read had warned her of an unpleasant taste, musky and salty, but to her surprise, it was faintly sweet, and she was reminded of the running sap when they tapped the trees for syrup near the end of winter. She sought out more, sucking and tonguing his slit, until Rum tugged at her hair urgently. 

“Enough... _Belle_.” 

The desperation in his voice was warning enough; Belle relented, licking her lips as she stood up, and after one moment of hesitation, decisively began unfastening her riding skirt until it fell to the ground, pooling around her feet until she stepped out of it. Technically, she didn’t need to undress at all; all she had to do was lift her skirts and chemise and let him take her, but she wanted to see. Wanted to see his body slide into hers, and she wanted to feel, feel his bare skin against hers, feel his hands on her naked flesh. And just the idea of being naked out here in the woods, completely exposed to the open air was making her wet with excitement. The rest of her clothes dropped to the ground, one by one. Riding jacket, shirt, chemise, until she stood bare and defiant before Rum. He stared back, eyes wide and...almost reverent, she thought, her initial instinct to cover herself fading. His utter lack of self-consciousness about his naked body made her feel less shy about her own, like they were on equal footing. He was still taller than her, but he did not loom over her as Gaston did, with his overdeveloped muscles and bulk, rather, Rum’s body was lithe and compact and wiry, giving off an air of strength without making her feel afraid or intimidated. 

“How shall we go about this, then?” She knew there were different positions, but was at the point where she was ready for him to take the lead and show her what to do. 

He closed the distance between them, hands running over her body, cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she shivered, the wetness between her legs increasing. 

“You could lie back and I could take you,” he said easily, in a sing-song voice. “Or I could lie back and you could take _me_ , straddle my hips and sink down upon my shaft and ride me like a stallion. Or you could get down on your hands and knees, and I could take you from behind, like a beast.”

The last image caught Belle’s imagination more than she thought it should, and she flushed at her reaction to it. But not her first time, not when she wanted to see, to watch. “I want to see your face,” she said, negating that option but hesitating at the other two. The first seemed like less work on her part, and he wouldn’t crush her with his weight as Gaston would…

“If this is your first time, you would have more control on top,” he said, surprising her. “You can take me as deep as you like, as fast or as slow as you like.” He shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

Belle bit her lip. “That way, then. So…”

He took her hand, and drew her down with him onto the grass, pulling her into his lap. It trapped his cock between them and a shiver of pleasure went through Belle at the feeling of his cock against her belly, and then another as his finger probed between her legs. 

Rum hummed with satisfaction at the moisture he found there. “That’s good, the wetter the better.” He stroked her slowly, careful of his sharp nail, spreading the slick out, finding the small bump at the top of her cleft.

“There!” Belle shot her hand down to capture his wrist, trapping his hand where she wanted it. “A little to the side -- ” She released his wrist and he kept rubbing her, and it was so much better than touching herself, the feel of his touch different from her own, new and foreign and exciting. Her hips began to shift of their own accord, bringing her breasts into contact with his chest, and a jolt of sensation went through her as his rough-textured skin brushed against her nipples. She deliberately did it again, rocking against his finger and pressing and rubbing herself up against his chest as she steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. His finger stilled but remained in place, allowing her to set the rhythm as she chased her own pleasure, but his cock shifted and bobbed against her, hard and stiff, inflaming her senses still further. She looked down at it with wide eyes, thinking of how it would feel inside her, stretching her, filling her up, and the thought pushed her over the edge and she came, crying out. 

Rum immediately took himself in hand, gripping the base of his shaft tightly and willing himself away from the edge as he watched Belle come down from her high, the tension ebbing out of her body. “That’s it,” he crooned. “Let yourself relax, both inside and out.” It would have been so easy to keep rutting against her body and find his release, but he lay back, spreading the slick leaking from the head of his cock evenly over the shaft and holding himself steady for Belle. He wished that he’d thought to pare down his nails so he could breach her with a finger first, but it was too late for that now. 

“Mount me at your pleasure, my lady,” he invited. “Up on your knees, and sink down upon me.”

Belle had automatically shifted to straddle his hips, and she took a deep breath, gazing at the erection in front of her. It was flushed a much darker green than it had been before, veins distended along the sides of it, thick and hard and curving slightly, and she wanted it inside her. She didn’t know if she could take him, but she knew she wanted to try, wanted something to fill the aching emptiness inside her. She rose up, positioning him where she knew he needed to go, and tried to lower herself, bracing her hands on his chest. She bit her lip as it stretched and burned, and lifted back up, shifting for a slightly different angle. “What if I’m too small?” she worried, wincing as she tried to press down again and her body refused to yield. 

“You aren’t. Try more of an angle, yes, like that. Shall we do it together, on the count of three?. I’ll push up and you push down.” He splayed his free hand on her thigh, massaging the tense muscles. “Say the word and it’ll be over in a second. Well, the hardest part will be.”

Belle hesitated, using the moment to gather some of her fluids and make sure he was well coated. Do the brave thing, she thought. “All right. Together.” She lifted her chin, bracing herself. “One...two…”

She let out a startled yell as he thrust up and into her, his fingers digging into her skin, and gods, it hurt where she was now stretched wide around him, but deeper inside, it felt good. Her heart pounded in a mix of panic and the giddy realisation that it was done. She held herself very still, afraid to move. 

“You cheated!” she accused breathlessly.

“I was afraid you would tense up on “three”. Are you all right?” By the trees, she was tight. Tight and hot and wet and he knew he couldn’t move until she did. 

“I don’t know.” She cautiously shifted the smallest amount and winced again, but persisted, moving up a little and then back down and each short withdrawal dragged him through her wetness and he began to slide more easily in and out of her body, until she had his flared crown poised at her entrance. That would be the worst bit, she thought, pulling off of him completely, and since she wasn’t yet done with him, she sank back down, laughing aloud in relief as she took him to the hilt and settled her weight upon his body. “I did it.” She grinned. Whatever happened, Gaston would not have this from her. Would not have her first time. Might not even want her anymore if she told him she had lain with another man first. Well, not quite a man, but she could leave that part out. 

“I hope you’re not laughing at me.” Rum raised his eyebrows, both hands on her hips now, steadying her and helping her move. 

“No, I’m laughing because of you. Because you allowed me to make my first time about me, instead of a husband I care nothing for.” She leaned forward, and oh, that was a much better angle…

“You need not wed anyone you do not wish to,” he said, his eyes narrowing, his voice hard as flint. Hard as oak. 

Belle’s face twisted wistfully. “It is not set on, not yet, but Gaston presses Papa continually. The ogres advance on our lands, and Gaston’s offer comes with the promise of men and money to fight them.” She clenched tight around him, as if she could reject that future by holding onto this present, and felt him jerk inside her. 

“Oh, if it’s _money_ you need -- “ Rum lifted one hand into the air and circled it negligently, as if that were the easiest thing in the world to provide. “Do you see that lightning-struck stump over there?” He had to lift his head for a moment, to orient himself, and pointed at the blackened remains of a tree on the far side of the grove.

“Yes.” 

“Men came once, while it was still a strong and healthy tree. Buried treasure there. Coins, wrapped tight in bags to muffle the sound, but one broke open, and I saw them spill out, shining gold in the light of their torches. And there were cups, with gems winking in that same light, and silver candlesticks, and other treasures beside.” His eyes went far away, remembering watching, concealed in magic and shadows. “No one ever came back to reclaim it.”

Belle sat up straight, a hope rising in her breast that she refused to allow yet. “You said you were asleep for a long time, in your tree. Could the treasure not have been found and dug up then?” Surely this was too good to be true...

“If men had started digging in _my_ earth, so close to my tree, I would have felt it and woke. My roots extend far.” He saw Belle’s eyes light with excitement, gazing at the scarred and blackened stump of the old tree, and wrapped his hands about her waist. “Do not even think of getting off of me and looking for the treasure right now,” he warned. “You can return with men, and spades, tomorrow if you wish.” 

“I suppose,” she allowed, but her eyes were still shining as she looked back down at him, and she leaned forward impulsively to kiss him, her lips brushing against his. His eyes widened as she pulled back. 

“Claim it as your dowry, and give yourself to whomever you wish, or none at all,” he said gruffly. And if Gaston still troubles you -- “ Rum grinned, a feral, vicious grin. “ -- Tell him you wish to meet him here, by my tree. In the evening, when the light is fading. And then do not come. _I_ will deal with him, make sure that he has no desire to ever bother you again.” Distracted by the idea of treasure, she had stopped moving, and he could not help rocking up into her. He had been patient, letting her take her time getting used to the feel of him inside her, but his patience was running out. He _needed._

Rum bucked beneath her a second time and Belle gasped. She ground down against him in response, looking down at where they were joined, the thickness of his shaft splitting her open obscenely wide. “And what do you get out of this arrangement?” she asked, already suspecting the answer and more than willing to pay the price.

“Your gratitude, of course. Your continued companionship.” Rum’s expression shifted to a leer. “More...of this, if you wish it. Second times are said to be much better than first times, and third times even better yet. Speaking of which…” He surged up, and held her close to him as he rolled and put her under him. “I believe it is my turn.”

Belle let out a startled noise as she suddenly felt cool grass prickling against her back and buttocks, the sensation sending shivers through her. Rum had managed to keep them joined, and she automatically raised her knees and braced her feet on the ground as he pushed himself up onto his forearms but let the weight of his hips sink onto her as he thrust forward, seating himself more securely inside her. 

“All right?” he asked roughly, his muscles coiled with tension that ached to be released. He ground his hips against her in a circular motion and her eyes widened further. 

It was better than all right, the feel of his cock different inside her from this angle, the weight of his body upon her heavy enough to be exciting without making her feel trapped. the pressure on her mound transferring straight through to her clit as he moved. She tentatively put her hands on his lower back, then slid them more boldly down to cup his buttocks, the taut, rounded muscles fitting neatly into her palms. “Yes. It’s good,” she assured him, and tried to rock up against him, urging him to move. “Move.”

Rum obliged, watching her face for any signs of discomfort, and slowly increasing his pace when he saw none, his hips rolling against her in an age-old rhythm. 

The force of his thrusts rocked Belle backwards upon the ground, and she experimentally lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist, the feel of grass and dirt and the little dips and hollows beneath her reminding her that she was outside, that she was being rutted into by a creature of the wild and her fingers dug into Rum’s flesh even as she tightened around that part of him that filled her up. Any lingering soreness where she had been stretched open was, for now, buried beneath the pleasure that was the long slide of his cock within her. She imagined Gaston coming upon her like this and nearly moaned as her inner muscles tightened reflexively again with a throb of pleasure.

Rum whimpered as the shift in angle allowed him to slide deeper within her, and her body clamped down on him, everything hot and tight and slippery and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, his balls tightening as they drew up against his body. “So good,” he managed, the ability to form coherent speech fast slipping away from him. “Maybe I should claim you as the price for the treasure. Keep you here forever, pull you with me into the tree, pressed close and naked and ready to service me whenever I wish.”

Belle shivered, and strained up against him. She’d never tried to come more than once, her flesh too sensitive to bear direct touching after one orgasm, but for the first time she wondered if it could happen. “ _Rum_ …”

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, huskily. “Like my voice, like me telling what I’d like to do with you. Shall I tell you how good you feel around me, so wet and warm and tight -- ahhh -- “ His hips stuttered, and he felt the warning tingle of his orgasm approaching. “ -- like you want to keep me deep inside your body, like you were made for me -- “ He cried out as his body spasmed, pleasure shooting up his spine and out along his cock as his balls tightened and wet heat came spurting out of him to fill up her womb. He sagged against her as his muscles went lax, trembling as an aftershock ran through him, his cock jerking within her before it began to soften. He breathed deeply, waiting for his racing heart to calm before he slowly pulled out, noting her wince as the head of his shaft slipped free. He rolled onto his side next to her, feeling sated and content in mind as well as body. _Not alone_ , he thought, and reached out to twist a lock of her hair around his fingers, as if by so doing he could keep her there with him forever. “Are you well?”

Belle shifted gingerly, considering. She felt a bit tender, and unpleasantly wet and sticky. But she also felt good, in a way that she had never been able to achieve by herself. And most of all she felt free, and hopeful. Free of the pressure to marry a man whom she did not love, and hopeful that a treasure awaited their unearthing, gold and jewels with which to hire and equip men-at-arms to defend their village, to drive the ogres back. And -- she looked at Rum, lying quietly next to her and watching her with his strange, reptilian eyes -- she felt that she had found a comrade, someone whom she might call friend as well as lover. “I am. In need of a bath, but otherwise, I think, very well.” She smiled at him. 

Rum smiled back, relieved, and felt something warm and protective swell in his chest. She had named him, named him and claimed him, and that meant that he was hers, and she was his. His to protect, his to care for. He remembered the ogres, from centuries past, smashing their way through his forest. They were big, and they were strong, but in his tree he was bigger, and stronger. And the people of this place had remembered him, and honoured him, he knew it in his roots. He had only to look up at the dozens of ribbons still adorning his branches for confirmation, some tattered and faded, others still bright and new. And though he had slept, with every offering poured onto his roots, each invocation, he had grown stronger. He could feel that energy coiled inside himself, waiting to be used. It was time to pay back centuries of belief. They had asked for his blessing, and he would give it. Let the ogres come, and they would know, and they would see. 

He was the spirit of the tree.


End file.
